


All those fires and floods

by dayspassquicker



Category: 24
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayspassquicker/pseuds/dayspassquicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes lonely hearts they just get lonelier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All those fires and floods

It’s not that it’s not love. It’s just that some mornings you wake up expecting to see the ceiling of your old apartment, and for a second everything is wrong.

**

In the end, the press breaks the story before you do. Your own face staring back at you from the TV screen as you leave message after message. It’s an old picture, longer hair and a sterner smile. He comes home late.

"We’ve only been married a month," he says, like you’ve forgotten. Like you forget everything that doesn’t require a security clearance.

**

One morning, Tom follows you into your office. It’s 7 AM, and you’ve been awake for five hours. A delayed connection, and there was barely enough time for you to brush your teeth in the airport bathroom before running for a cab.

He starts speaking before you can turn around. "Karen, this job isn’t part-time. Either do it or don’t."

It’s still dark outside. You throw your coat down onto your chair, and he’s gone before you remember to say 'get out'.

**

Sometimes when you fight, sometimes when you have to leave early, sometimes when your mind is ten other places, Bill will say: "Karen, if you want this to work, you have to choose it."

You’ll be frowning into a file you don’t remember reading, one with your signature at the bottom and your own handwriting cramped into the margins.

All you will think is: _I did_.

**

When the attacks get worse, you stop flying back at weekends. Some nights you don’t even make it to your hotel, and there are missed calls on your cell phone, and voicemails that you forget to check.

He deserves more than you, but you were always careful what you promised.

It doesn’t stop you being sorry. He visits, and you spend the night kissing a thousand apologies into his skin. Knees either side of his hips, pushing down hard, trying to make a mark. You close your eyes and make it hurt. He doesn’t stop you, but there’s a ghost of a touch on the inside of your wrist, his thumb drawing slow circles. It’s too much. You jerk your hands away and shift your hips closer.

You don’t open your eyes until he comes. You breathe out, and it’s worse, and he’s looking at you like you’re breaking his heart.

**

You fire him and he stops answering your calls. You’d wondered what it would take.

**

Afterwards, for days, the air smells of smoke that you know isn’t there.

You stop watching the news. You call the front desk and cancel the morning paper. You still dream, long heavy nights full of tangled sheets and bombs that never stop exploding.

**

They reopen LAX within the week. He’s waiting at the gate, hands jammed into the pockets of his coat, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"You’re here," you say. His smile almost breaks you.

You save the world and lose your job. You lose your job and save your marriage. You keep getting it wrong, even when you get it right.

**

It’s not that it’s not love. Some mornings you wake up with his hand warm against your hip, and the angles of his body against the bed are the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Some mornings he presses kisses along your jaw. "Thank you for coming back to me."

You slide your arms around his waist. Absolution.

You don't say: _it wasn't my choice_.


End file.
